May the Bard Be With You
by Mad Madame Me
Summary: Acting really took off after Sarah discovered Shakespeare. Guess who else shares her obsession?


Well, other than me.

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**May the Bard Be With You**

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"Yea, signore, and depart when you bid me." Sarah paced her bedroom, reciting with a carefree lilt.

There was a pause as she pretended her counterpart spoke.

Smiling, she turned on a heel. "'Then' is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came; which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio."

Another paused. Sarah sighed and growled. "This isn't working!"

"Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?" A cultured voice asked in the crevice of her ear.

Without thinking, she answered. "Yea, signore, and depart when you bid me."

The voice seemed to smile. "O, stay but till then!"

Sarah, with a pause of hesitation, turned back and jumped. "_You_."

"Me." The King of the Goblins bowed, still smiling. "However, that is not the next line."

"What are you doing here?" She backed away, script falling to the ground.

He picked it up. "O, stay but till then!"

She glanced at him, then remembered. "'Then' is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came; which is, with knowing what hath passed between you and Claudio."

"Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee." Jareth moved closer and touched her arm.

Pulling back, she shook her head. "Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed." With a delicate curtsey, she turned to leave.

The Goblin King caught her. "Thou hast frightened the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me."

Sarah flashed a dazzling smile. "For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them." Cocking her head, she stepped closer. "But for which of my _good _parts did you first suffer love for me?"

"Suffer love! A good epithet!" Jareth laughed. "I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will."

Was it her imagination that he stressed those lines?

Sarah brushed it aside to touch his chest. "In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love that which my friend hates."

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably." Again, he seemed to put special emphasis on the retort.

"It appears not in this confession: there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself."

Jareth paused for a moment, as though trying to remember the next line. "An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the lime of good neighbors. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and the widow weeps."

Nodding, Sarah asked, "And how long is that, think you?"

He became serious. "Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum: therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy: and now tell me, how doth your cousin?"

Now she fell solemn. "Very ill."

"And how do you?"

Sarah turned away, voice quiet. "Very ill too."

Touching her chin with a gentle hand, he said. "Serve God, love me and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste."

They both paused, and it seemed that a specter's voice spoke the next lines.

"Will you go hear this news, signor?" Sarah looked to Jareth.

He inclined his head. "I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thine eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle's.

At this, Sarah tossed the script to her bed. "I didn't know you knew Shakespeare."

"I do." Jareth glanced at the pages sprawled across her sheets. "Beatrice, then. When is your performance?"

"In five weeks. Why?"

A light of mischief crossed his face. "Would you care to practice the final scene?"

There was something about…why couldn't she remember? Sarah thought for a long moment, then shrugged. "Sure."

Triumph filled his eyes. "Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?"

Replying automatically, Sarah stepped forward. "I answer to that name. What is your will?"

"Do not you love me?" For the third time, he placed special accent on the words.

Sarah shuddered. "Why, no; no more than reason."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why, then your uncle and the prince and Claudio have been deceived; they swore you did."

With a shrug, she changed the subject. "Do not you love me?"

"Troth, no;" his eyes glinted, "no more than reason."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why, then my cousin, Margaret and Ursula are much deceived; they swore you did."

Jareth moved forward, stalking her. She trembled at the force between them. "They swore that you were almost sick for me."

"They swore you were well-nigh dead for me."

He waved a hand. "'Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me?"

Shaking her head, she smiled. "No, truly, but in friendly recompense."

They waited a moment, imagining the next several accusations and blushing in turn when appropriate.

"A miracle!" Jareth exclaimed, face alight. "Here's our hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity."

She laughed along with him. "I would not deny you; but by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in consumption."

Suddenly, she remembered why she paused at this scene.

He placed a hand over her lips. "Peace! I will stop your mouth."

"If you kiss me," Sarah broke character, "I won't be held responsible for my actions."

"Is that a promise?" A wicked grin danced over his face.

She could do nothing but back away. "It's a threat."

With no warning, Jareth trapped her against a wall. "I am going to kiss you now."

And he did.

The next line flew out of her mind, until only one remained. "How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?"

"I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-crackers cannot flout me of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or epigram? No: if a man will be beaten with brains, a' shall wear nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it, for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion." Jareth, still trapping Sarah against the wall, kissed her again.

When he pulled away, a grin twinkled in his eyes. "What is the next line, Sarah?"

She started. "I'm having trouble remembering my own name at the moment. Can we start over?"

"Gladly." He cupped her face in his hands.

Sarah jerked away. "Not there! I meant the beginning, where we hate each other."

"It is far too late to begin there, as we are to be married."

For a long moment, she merely stared. "Wait…when did I agree to marry you?"

Jareth furrowed his brow, his turn at confusion. "Sarah, I was speaking of the play."

"Oh." Her eyes widened. "I see."

He gave a dark laugh. "Unless you would have me to speak of us."

"There's no such thing as us." Sarah brushed past him to stand in the center of the room. "There's never been an us."

The eyebrow lifted again. "Indeed? You are, however, forgetting something very important."

It couldn't be good. "And what is that?"

Jareth crossed the room in an instant, sweeping her into his arms. "I am in love with you."

"…We're not acting anymore, Jareth." Sarah moved to back away.

"I am not acting." He clasped her to his breast, whispering to her listening ear. "_My dearest love_."

For a long moment, she said nothing, opting instead to escape. "Oh yes, you are very funny. That's a wonderful joke. Aha." Sarah glanced back and forth with a nervous laugh. "This is a joke, right? You'll love me when pigs fly."

The airborne porcine in question sped past the window.

"That's a flying pig, isn't it?"

He nodded.

Sarah swore under her breath.

"Don't sound so revolted at the idea," Jareth circled around her, "when I know you want it."

"But see, I don't want it." She dove for the bed and brandished the script like a sword to keep him at bay. "I just want to practice my lines in peace."

By the sudden gleam of mischief in his eyes, Sarah wondered if this had not been the best idea after all. He tossed the script aside, idly, and bent over her. Gasping, she shifted beneath him. "Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Do not you love me?"

"Why, no; no more than reason. Do not you love me?"

Jareth grazed her ear with his teeth, earning a whimper. "I love thee against my will."

Whispering back, she retorted. "In spite of your heart, I think; alas, poor heart. If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never love that which my friend hates."

"Will you love that which your friend loves?"

In confused hesitance, she guessed. "Aye…?"

He laughed, snaking an arm about her waist. "Then by my troth, you love my heart, for I love it for thy sake."

"I hate you."

He stared for some time, tracing her face with an ungloved hand. "Sarah…_goddess_. Nymph. Perfect. Divine. To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyes? Crystal is muddy. Oh, how ripe in the show thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow." Here, he fixed his attentions to her mouth. She moaned. "That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow fanned with the eastern window, turns to a crow, when thou hold'st up thy hand. O let me kiss this princess of pure white, this seal of bliss."

"O spite. O hell." Sarah writhed away. "I see you are all bent to set against me for your merriment. If you were civil and knew courtesy, you would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do?"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks." Jareth murmured against her neck. "Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love."

A tear sprung from her eyes.

"I love thee, Sarah; by which honour, I dare not swear thou lovest me, yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost."

She exhaled sharply. "All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit, for I am sick when I look on thee."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" He did not release her. "Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

"I cannot tell what that is like…"

He smiled, "An angel is like you, Sarah, and you are like an angel."

"O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!" She spat at him.

Pointed canines flashed in wicked grin. "More wonderful when angels are so angry. Titled goddess! And worth it, with addition…But fair soul, in your fine frame hath love no quality? If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, you are no maiden but a monument. When you are dead, you should be such a one as you are now, for you are cold and stern; and now you should be as your mother was when your sweet self was got."

Sarah moved to strike. "She was then honest."

"So should you be." Jareth stilled her hand with a caress. "O dear Sarah, I am ill at these numbers, I have not art to reckon my groans, but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it."

"You stole my brother!"

Shushing her with a kiss to the cheek, he shook his head. "Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, of these supposed crimes, to give me leave, by circumstance, but to acquit myself."

She paused long enough to remember the next line. How fortunate her professors forced them to memorize so much. "Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man, of these known evils, but to give me leave, by circumstance, to accuse thy cursed self."

Jareth kissed her again, against her struggles. "Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have some patient leisure to excuse myself."

"Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make no excuse but to hang thyself."

He laughed into her hair. "Your beauty was the cause of that effect; your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep to undertake the death of all the world, so I might live on hour in your sweet bosom."

"Thou art unfit for anyplace but hell." Sarah glowered.

"Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it."

"Some dungeon." She turned away, still fighting his embrace.

A sensual hand brushed the tender flesh of her throat, turning her back to face him. "Your bed-chamber."

"Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!"

Smiling with the charm due the character he portrayed, Jareth leaned closer. "So will it, madam, till I lie with you. All the faith, the virtue of my heart, the object and the pleasure of mine eye, is only Sarah."

Growling, she fought anew. "Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair or rather do I not in plainest truth tell you I do not nor I cannot love you?"

The Goblin King smirked. "These eyes could not endure that beauty's wrack; you should not blemish it, if I stood by: as all the world is cheered by the sun, so I by that; it is my day, my life."

"Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!"

Stilling her lips with caressing fingers, Jareth murmured. "Teach not thy lip for such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, lo, here lend thee this sharp pointed sword, which if thou please to hide in this true breast, and let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke and humbly beg for death on my knee." With that, he released her and dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed.

It took a long moment to remember the next line. "Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner."

"Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it." He stood, clasping her hands.

She narrowed her eyes. "I have already."

"Tush, that was in thy rage: speak it again, and, even with the word, that hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; to both their deaths thou shalt be accessory."

Sarah moved back at the chilling tone. More to herself, she said. "I would I knew thy heart."

Jareth sat beside her. "'Tis figured in my tongue."

Meeting his eyes, she allowed him to touch her face. "I fear me both are false."

"Then never man was true." He kissed her, ever so gently, "To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Sarah--thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him."

For a long moment, Sarah remained silent. Suddenly, she came to her senses. "_Why _must you be so _close?_ I could almost suffocate!"

"But wouldn't it be delightful to drown in my arms?" He flashed a grin. "I'll not budge an inch."

Sarah turned away. "What, jealous Oberon? Fairies away. I have forsworn his bed and company."

His hand traced a pattern over her back. "Come, my queen, take hands with me, and rock the ground whereupon these sleepers be."

Staring into his deep, mismatched eyes, a line came to her mind. Without thinking, she said it. "What fire is in my ears? Can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much? Contempt, farewell! And maiden pride, adieu! No glory lives behind the back of such. And Benedick, love on; I will requite thee, taming my wild heart to thy loving hand: if thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves up in an holy band; for others say thou dost deserve, and I believe it better than reportingly."

The shadow of tears crossed her eyes.

Jareth brushed them away with kisses. "Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?"

"Yea, and I will weep a while longer." Sarah tried to blink the emotion away. And failed.

She had no reason to be so upset. No reason at all. But she was…

He took her face in his hands. "I will not desire that."

"You have no reason; I do it freely." Sarah sniffed, and allowed him to take her into his arms.

Stroking her hair, he met her gaze. "I love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?"

She laughed, choking on a sob. "As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you: but believe me not…" Sarah paused to lower her eyes. When she spoke again, it was barely a whisper, "…and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor deny nothing."

"By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me." He tilted her face.

Shaking her head, she pulled back. "Do not swear, and eat it."

"I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love you not."

Sarah shivered. "Will you not eat your word?"

The Goblin King caressed her cheek. "With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee."

Here she smiled, half herself and half Beatrice. "Why, then, forgive me!"

"What offense, sweet Beatrice?" He inclined his head in curiosity.

Hesitantly, she touched his face. "You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you."

His eyes darkened. "And do it with all thy heart."

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."

Falling completely into character, Sarah closed her eyes and kissed him. Jareth's arms circled her waist, pinning her to his chest as he kissed her back fiercely.

They broke apart and Sarah trembled. When she looked at him, his eyes pierced her with question. "I don't know why. I just--just _touched _you and I needed to kiss you desperately."

For the third time, Jareth quoted the final scene. "Do not you love me?"

"I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in consumption."

Sarah yelped as he stood, spinning her. Setting her down, he laughed. "Peace! I will stop your mouth."

He did.

"Marry me, Sarah." Jareth said when he pulled away. "Come on and kiss me Kate."

"I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thine eyes." She kissed him again. "And moreover I will marry you!"

Both laughed heartily. Swinging her around, Jareth exclaimed. "Strike up, pipers!"

THE END

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A/N. Credit to Jim Henson, Brian Froud and William Shakespeare. Two of whom are dead and bowling, and the other off confirming my beliefs about my favorite Feathered Fiend. (I love thee!) The rest to the Reduced Shakespeare Company, because they rock my socks.

I borrowed, in order of amount, from _Much Ado About Nothing _(obviously), _Richard III_, _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, _Hamlet_, _All's Well That Ends Well_, _Henry V, The Taming of the Shrew_, sonnets, and _Love's Labour's Lost_. (If I've missed one, flog me.)

Cookies to anyone who discovers the _Macbeth _quote/reference. Hint: 'Tis swift, like the lightning, which disappears ere one can say it lightens. (Also, a nose by any other name can still smell.)

Please, leave a contribution in the little box!


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